


Our Veins Are Busy             (My Heart's In Atrophy)

by sadspencer



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Spencer Reid, Bisexual Spencer Reid, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Fluff, Hurt Spencer Reid, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Spencer Reid, M/M, Sad Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid Needs a Hug, Spencer Reid Whump, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadspencer/pseuds/sadspencer
Summary: his voice is barely more than a whisper. "everything takes so much effort, and i don't have the energy anymore," he finally makes eye contact for the first time since the conversation started. "i'm tired."••or the one in which spencer relapses and nobody knows, until someone finally does
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid
Comments: 28
Kudos: 290





	Our Veins Are Busy             (My Heart's In Atrophy)

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "sedated" by hozier
> 
> this was originally a vent drabble i wrote in my notes that went on too long, so i decided to just post it. i'd like to preface this by saying that i do love the team, i just needed the angst and i was angry at how the show handled his addiction

it's during a case when it happens. they don't often share rooms, only when the bureau is doing budget cuts or when there's not enough availability for singular rooms wherever they're staying. other than that, they always have their own rooms. of course, the universe hates him and intends to prove that at any given opportunity. he and hotch get paired together because morgan still insists that he is a terrible roommate - _"come on man, you never sleep so you're up all night pacing and sometimes i wake up at three in the morning to you reciting books in russian and i gotta say, it's terrifying"_ \- and his heart immediately starts pounding the second he's told of the arrangements.  
  
they get to the city not long before the sun comes up and they're all exhausted so hotch sends them straight to the hotel. everyone else is grateful but he can only feel panic. it's been too long since his last dose and it's all he can think about. he knows it's a risk to shoot up in the bathroom of a hotel room that he's sharing with his boss but at least he waits until the other's asleep. that has to mean he's still got _some_ common sense, right? it's not as if he could've just waited until he got home - there's no way he'd be able to work the case while going through withdrawal.  
  
he's in the bathroom for some amount of time (could've been minutes, could've been hours) before putting his stuff away and dragging himself back to bed. thank god he remembered to change his clothes before he shot up because he never would've been able to get out of his work clothes in his current drug-induced haze. as soon as his head hits the pillow, sleep overtakes him. he's woken up three hours later to hotch shaking his arm saying, "wake up, reid, there's been another body", and before he's even fully aware of what's going on he's already muttering something about that not fitting the unsub's pattern.  
  
hotch leaves as soon as he's sure his roommate is awake, telling him to meet everyone at the station. this leaves him enough time to get dressed, inject himself with enough to tide him over but not enough to pass out, and grab a cup of coffee from the coffee shop he passes on the way to the rest of the team - you know, normal daily activities. they work the case for the day and discover that once again it must be a middle-aged white man who hates women. the others decide to go to a diner they saw on the way to the hotel the day before, but he declines the offer, claiming that he wants to go over some files and he'll order food from his room. that's not what he's really going to do but he can't exactly go to ~~his family~~ ~~his friends~~ his team of fellow fbi agents and say, "you guys go eat food, i'm going back to the hotel to inject myself with illegally obtained drugs because i'm a junkie and you already knew that but what you didn't know is that i relapsed a month ago and can't seem to get myself to stop and at this point i'm not sure if i'll ever stop and even worse i'm not sure if i even want to". well, he supposes he could just say that but it probably won't go over very well. he's not a psychic though, so who knows? maybe he'll give the whole honesty thing a try one day but not tonight.   
  
it's only when he's away from ~~his family~~ ~~his friends~~ his team that he finally drops the act - no need for fake smiles when there's no one to fake them for. he doesn't have to put the effort into looking okay when there's no one around him that needs fooling. the receptionist isn't going to worry about the lanky kid with bags under his eyes so dark they hardly look real. the man he passes on the stairs isn't going to ask the freak with trembling hands and a cane why he looks like he's about to pass out at any moment. the cleaning lady isn't going to talk to anyone behind his back about why he looks like he's aged thirty years just by letting the exhaustion he feels actually show on his face.  
  
he gets told all the time _it's okay to not be okay_ but that's only true when he's alone. when he's around ~~his family~~ ~~his friends~~ his team, he has to hide the exhaustion. he has to hide how skinny he's gotten. he has to hide the shaking, the flinching, the need to get as far away as possible. but when it's just him in his hotel room, he doesn't need to pretend. he can walk in, drop his bag and cane to the floor, and fall face-first onto the bed.  
  
he's so tired. he's tired of the lies; tired of putting up a front; tired of keeping his mask in place; tired of being tired. he wishes that sleeping would help but this sort of tired is so bone-deep that the only sleep that stands a chance of helping is one that he never wakes up from. can't be tired if you're not alive, right? no, he's not going to kill himself. but if a car were to speed towards him, he knows he wouldn't move out of the way. he doesn't want to die, he's just tired of existing.  
  
after a few minutes of just lying there contemplating life, he gets up to do what he initially planned to do. at this point, the movements of _tie the tourniquet fill the syringe inject the drug remove the needle feel the bliss_ are purely mechanical. once again, he's not sure how long he sat there for but when he gets back into his room and stuffs everything into his bag, hotch isn't back yet. that's okay with him. he doesn't want to see hotch. he doesn't want to see anyone. he falls back onto the bed, still in his work clothes. he doesn't have the energy to change out of them. all he can do is stare at the ceiling. he wishes his brain caught onto the lack of energy his body's feeling but unfortunately his thoughts just keep coming and coming.  
  
he knows ~~his family~~ ~~his friends~~ his team was aware of his little problem the first time around. he was never confronted about it but the way they refuse to mention anything even slightly related to drugs around him is all the confirmation he needs. one time, when he was about a year and a half clean, morgan had to get his wisdom teeth removed and jj said "yeah he was, uh, really out of it for a while after, and some of the stuff he said was kinda funny". he just wanted to scream _you can say he was high it's okay i want to hear the stories please stop treating me like i'm going to overdose the second you say the word narcotic around me_ but of course, he didn't say that. what he really did was force a laugh and pretend he didn't notice the way her eyes quickly shifted to him right before she said "out of it".  
  
he never really understood why they didn't talk to him about it. all throughout the time he was first using, the only thing he wanted was for someone to say, "stop taking drugs". that's it. he would've at least tried to stop the second someone cared enough to confront him about it. gideon got close. he was sure that that day in new orleans was going to be the day someone finally told him to give it up. he even gave gideon an opening by telling him "i'm struggling", but when all ~~his father-figure~~ ~~his friend~~ his mentor did was attempt to treat his addiction as if it was perfectly normal, he accepted that he was wrong. he wasn't going to be confronted. he tried to hint one last time not long after, comparing an arsonist to a drug addict, looking directly at gideon after saying that _it'd be almost impossible for him to quit without help_. but gideon looked away. it was such a blatant cry for help, and it was ignored. that was the moment he realised that he was truly alone. everybody seemed to care more about him keeping his job than him keeping his life.  
  
he didn't know what he was to them. before his addiction, he wouldn't have hesitated before saying they were friends. they refer to the unit as their family all the time, and whilst he wasn't quite at that level at that point, he knew that he'd never question them when they said it. but now? now he isn't sure whether they like him, or if they just like the way he does their paperwork for them, pretending he doesn't notice them slipping in files. or maybe they just like the way he reads the unsub's journals for them, ignoring the fact that the others could eventually forget what was written in them but he'd never be able to remove the gruesome words from his brain. or maybe they just like the way he can answer any factual question they may have, acting as if it doesn't hurt when he's cut off when talking of something he's passionate about during their personal time. he isn't sure whether they like him, or they like his brain. it's confusing and it hurts and he just wants to ask them but ironically enough, he's scared the question will make them feel bad, so he doesn't.  
  
he doesn't know what he is to them, so he can't tell them that his old problem has come back. he wants to throw the vial at morgan and shout _i'm taking dilaudid again please stop me i'm not strong enough to do it alone all over again_ but he can't because if they didn't do anything the first time, they won't do anything this time. he is alone, just as he always was and just as he always will be. he's used to being alone. he just wishes it didn't hurt so much.   
  
he thinks he could consider them his friends, but does it count as a friendship if it's one-sided? he's not sure. he doesn't really have much to compare it to. he never had many friends growing up, and he certainly didn't have much of a family. he had a few people in college, but they were really just people he sat near in the library and occasionally made small talk with, so he doesn't think he can use them as a comparison. there was ethan, but he really doesn't think he can compare his coworkers to his ex-boyfriend to see if he can consider them friends or not. maybe he could call ethan and ask his opinion. since their reunion in new orleans, they kept in contact. he briefly thinks about how he would go about asking such a thing, but then realises that he'd end up spilling his guts to ethan over the phone and confessing more than he's currently willing to, so that plan goes out the window.  
  
he comes to the conclusion that it doesn't matter what he is to them, or what they are to him. they're all going through their own problems and they don't need his weakness added onto that. he refuses to be even more of a burden than he already is. as long as he can still do his job, he's fine.  
  
sometimes he thinks that that's all there really is to him. he's nobody without his job. sure, he has his intelligence, but who is he if he's not catching serial killers? if ~~his family~~ ~~his friends~~ his team thought that him keeping his job was more important than him staying alive, surely that means that's the most important part of him, right? he doesn't know how to go from being reid to being spencer; from being genius fbi profiler to normal guy. he often tries to go about his days off as the average person would but he finds himself profiling the people in line at the coffee shop, or bringing up case files in his head and seeing if he missed anything. he never really gets a day off. the closest he gets to feeling like himself is when he's drugged up on his couch at home but at the same time, that's when he feels the least like himself.  
  
he must fall asleep sometime during his identity crisis because the next time he opens his eyes, it's dark and there's a blanket over him. he recognises the blanket as the one that was at the foot of the bed, and he sees the man who must've covered him with it deep asleep in the other bed. the clock next to him says it's nearly four in the morning, and he should definitely feel more ashamed than he does at the fact that his first thought was that _hotch isn't going to wake up anytime soon i have enough time to shoot up_ but alas, he has no energy to feel anything but the exhaustion keeping him exactly where he is. he closes his eyes and purposefully ignores the headache he can feel forming. if he ignores the existence of the headache, it's not really there. that never actually works, but he holds out hope that one of these days it will so he may as well try it each time.  
  
the next time he opens his eyes, the sun is out and the room is empty. the clock tells him it's half past ten in the morning and _oh shit i was supposed to be at the station at eight_ and his heart races with panic and he scrabbles to his bag and grabs his phone on the way and turns it on to call hotch and immediately apologise and he looks at it and _oh god there's a text from hotch i'm gonna be in so much trouble_ but the text tells him that hotch unsuccessfully tried to wake him before deciding he deserved to lie in with how tired he's looked lately and to head to the station once he wakes up. he's not in trouble. he can stop for a second and breathe. he's okay. he slept in but hotch allowed it and he's not going to lose his job.  
  
it's when he takes a second to get his bearings that the pain in his head becomes noticable, along with the shaking in his hands and the sweat on his forehead. how long has it been since he's had a hit? it doesn't matter - however long it's been is too long. he decides that since hotch doesn't know he's awake, he can have a regular dose, not just enough to tide him over like he did the day before. he gets dressed first, which is a painstaking process because _jesus how hard is it to button up a shirt with shaking hands i have a phd in engineering i should be able to do up a fucking shirt_ but as soon as he's done, he goes through the motions of _t_ _ie the tourniquet fill the syringe inject the drug remove the needle feel the bliss_ all over again.  
  
by time he gets to the station, it's past midday. after apologising to hotch and getting caught up on the case, he looks over the information on the board and notices something they didn't yesterday. the case is pretty simple, so it's no surprise to them when they manage to narrow down who the unsub is within the next few hours. really, the local leos should've been able to figure it out without them, but after seven bodies and no leads, it was a good thing they at least had the sense to call in the fbi. hotch is barking orders and people are scurrying to obey him and the precinct is loud but not loud enough to drown out the thoughts of _i can't go to the takedown i won't even be able to hold myself up in an hour i'll just be a liability_ so he 'confesses' to hotch that his knee is acting up and he doesn't think it's a good idea for him to join them. hotch believes him because he's been using his cane for the past few days - he didn't exactly lie, his knee _has_ been acting up recently, but it was actually feeling fine right then. his boss tells him to go to the hotel and he'll update him when they get back.  
  
he does as he's told, doing his best to keep the tremors of his hands to a minimum. he packs his bag as fast as he can without making people suspicious, and by time most of the station is vacated with everyone on the way to the unsub, he's walking back to the hotel.  
  
he doesn't know when hotch is supposed to be getting back, just that they're staying the night in whatever city they're in. it's already late when he's back in his room so he's not sure whether to take anything or just go to sleep. there's no time for him to take a full amount. if he takes a small dose, he'll be up probably all night and take some more in the morning, but that brings the problem of being both sleep deprived and high in close proximity of people trained in reading human behaviour. but if he doesn't take any tonight and goes straight to sleep, he runs the risk of waking up and not having enough time to get a hit before he's being rushed onto the jet. thinking about it, it's not as if it'll be the first time he's been sleep deprived and high around the profilers with nobody realising - he just drinks copious amounts of coffee and that typically makes up for anything he does that could arouse suspicion.  
  
making up his mind, he grabs what he needs before going to the bathroom and yet again goes through the process of _t_ _ie the tourniquet fill the syringe inject the drug remove the needle feel the bliss_ and sits there on the floor for some time. when he's sober, his mind keeps a running track of time, but when the dilaudid is soaring through his veins it shuts down the clock and he can just sit there without worrying about how long he's there for. he can just revel in the satisfaction the opioid brings and forget why he's there.

it seems to work a little too well, and not long after, he drifts off into sleep on the bathroom floor. he dreams of having dinner at rossi's with the rest of the bau. there's music on in the background - some italian singer rossi swears fits every situation, and so far he hasn't been wrong. prentiss asks him a question and he rambles off an answer to it. everyone listens attentively. there are no eye rolls, no muttering under their breath, no not-so-subtle annoyed looks shared. just him sharing information about something he's passionate about, and the people he cares about listening to him. suddenly, there's a knock on the door. he looks around the table and sees that everybody's there, but the knocking sounds again a few moments later. he hears someone call out _spencer_ from outside the door, which only fuels his confusion as it sounds just like hotch. but how can it be hotch? they're sat directly across from each other. his boss must be confused too because for some reason he's lifting his hand and waving it around, and now he's the one saying _spencer_ but it sounds farther away than it should. with one last _spencer_ louder than the others, his eyes shoot open and his confusion increases tenfold.

he seems to be on the floor in a white room with hotch crouched in front of him. it takes him a few seconds to notice that the older man is speaking.  
  
"spencer? spencer, are you with me?"  
  
he tries to reply but all that comes out is an incoherent mumble. his tongue feels heavy and his mind is cloudy and- oh. he's high. he slowly looks around the room without moving his head, his brain taking longer than normal to realise where he is. he's still not entirely sure why he's strung out on the floor with his boss talking to him and he's half convinced he's still dreaming, but hotch is still talking and trying to decipher what he's saying is taking all his effort away from figuring out what's going on.  
  
"-ome on, now. look at me, spencer. look at me." he does as he's told, trying to maintain eye contact. "there we go, that's it. spencer, i need you to sit up so i can get some water in you, okay? i'll lift you up but i need your help."  
  
he does his best to help but in the end, it's mostly left to hotch to sit him up from where he seems to have slumped all the way down, his back on the floor with only his head resting against the wall.  
  
"'otch?" he slurs.   
  
"yeah, spencer, it's me. it's just hotch. i'm going to get up to grab you some water but you need to stay sitting up and awake, okay? you got that?" once he receives a noise that vaguely resembles an affirmative, hotch does exactly as he said he would. time still isn't moving properly in his drug-addled mind so he has no idea how long he's sat there. he still isn't fully aware of what's happening, only that he needs to do as his boss tells him.  
  
he hears footsteps before feeling something small and plastic being pushed into his mouth. it takes him a second before he panics and tries to push away whatever it is, and only when he realises hotch is saying "it's just a straw, spencer" that he relaxes and drinks the water. it's cold and refreshing and, after a few sips, brings some clarity as it wakes him up more.

"hotch?" he whispers, "what- what are you doing? i thought-" he has to pause to clear his throat and drink more water, "i thought you were on the takedown. what are you doing here?"  
  
something akin to concern floats in hotch's voice as he replies, "it was a pretty easy takedown. morgan tackled him from behind and arrested him within ten minutes of getting there."  
  
a weak chuckle comes from him as he thinks that _yeah, of course morgan tackled him, morgan tackles everything._  
  
"you're right, but it does come in handy sometimes." the humour is evident in hotch's voice.  
  
oh, he said that out loud.

"i think we need to get you to bed, okay? can you stand up?"  
  
he slowly nods, but hotch still ends up doing most of the work. eventually he's up and resting against the man's side, one arm encircling his waist whilst his arm goes around hotch's shoulders to hold him up. after being mostly dragged to the bed, he drops down onto it, attempting to stay sitting up. he may be aware of what's happening now but his body still feels heavy and his limbs are hard to control - it's at this point he realises that he must have actually taken a full dose.  
  
hotch is sat next to him, arm still around his waist to stop him from falling. "spencer, you can go to sleep soon but first i need to ask you something. was this the first dose of a relapse or have you taken more of this recently?"

he gestures vaguely in the direction of the water and hotch gets the message, holding the glass for him and putting the straw to his lips. neither of them mention that it's obviously just a way to stall.  
  
"uh, i relapsed about a month ago."  
  
it's silent for a few seconds. when he speaks, hotch's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to be overheard. "god, spencer. why didn't you say anything?"   
  
since he's still high, he doesn't have much of a filter. he hardly realises words are leaving his mouth. "nobody helped last time. did that alone. doing this alone."  
  
he doesn't really hear the sharp intake of breath hotch makes. nor does the feel the way hotch slightly tenses and the grip on his waist becomes slightly tighter.

there may be more silence after that, he's not really sure. he just wants to go to sleep. he's aware of what's happening, and he's aware he should be panicking - his boss did just find him drugged up in a hotel bathroom during a case, after all. but honestly? he's too high to care.  
  
hotch seems to notice this and without another word, starts unbuttoning the tired man's shirt. again, his lack of a filter kicks in and he mumbles, "at least buy me dinner first." he doesn't make any move to stop him though, his limbs are still too heavy to move himself.  
  
his words bring a smile to hotch's face. "i tried to buy you dinner yesterday, you came back here instead."  
  
"if i knew going out to dinner would end in someone taking off my clothes and laying me on a bed, i would've said yes."  
  
hotch finally gets his shirt fully unbuttoned and pushes it off his shoulders. "stay sitting up, i need to grab you a shirt."  
  
"you got it, bossman."  
  
a surprised laugh falls from hotch's lips as he pulls a shirt from his own bag and takes it back to the grinning man sitting slouched on the bed.  
  
"i wasn't aware you turned into garcia when high."  
  
"you weren't aware i was even getting high."   
  
the smile falls from hotch's face and his voice goes quiet again. "no. no, i wasn't. lift your arms up."  
  
he does as he's told, allowing his boss to dress him like a child. his eyes drift closed once the shirt is on, and a hand softly pushes him down onto the bed. after also removing the man's shoes and socks, hotch lifts his legs up and pulls the blanket over him.  
  
his eyes are closed but he can feel a hand softly stroking his hair. "go to sleep now, spencer. we'll talk in the morning, okay?" hotch stands up straight after not receiving a reply, when a hand shoots out and fists the front of his shirt.

"stay."  
  
a few minutes later where he isn't sure if his request will be granted, he feels the bed dip behind him and he forces his body to roll over and his eyes to open. hotch is laying there, after changing into a t-shirt and sweats to sleep in. his head falls into the broad chest and he throws an arm over his bedmate. he feels more than hears hotch's chuckle.  
  
"i see you also become very cuddly."  
  
a lazy smile finds it's way onto his face. all that he can get out is a small "hmm. g'night, hotch" before he passes out.  
  
the last thing he hears is a deep voice say, "good night, spencer. sleep well."  
  
he wakes up to a warm arm encircling his waist and a hand stroking through his hair. it's the most comfortable he's woken up in a long time, and he instinctively leans into the hand whilst snuggling further into the chest in front of him.  
  
it's only when he feels the rumble of a small but deep laugh that he freezes and realises he doesn't quite know who's holding him right now. slowly, he opens his eyes and pulls back his head. his mouth drops open slightly when he sees his unit chief in front of him but he doesn't remove his arm from its place slung over hotch's hip. his other arm remains folded between them, hand resting on the other man's chest.  
  
the amusement is clear in hotch's voice as he says, "good morning, spencer."  
  
his shock causes him to pause for a moment before forcing out the words, "uh, h-hi, hotch. um, good morning?" it's not a question, but it sure sounds like one.  
  
"i'm going to get dressed while you run downstairs for a coffee for the both of us. i'd let it be the other way around but quite frankly i don't want to leave you alone in this room. then you're going to get changed if you'd like to, and we're going to have a chat. okay?"  
  
his eyes widen as he remembers the circumstances in which hotch found him the night before. he gives a shaky nod and tries to get out of bed, but hotch must read the fear on his face and assures him, "don't worry, spencer. you're not in trouble. we're just going to talk, that's it."  
  
this time when he nods it's more steady, and he does get himself out of bed. he refuses to look at his roommate as he finds his converse on the floor, shoving his feet into them and tucking the laces in without doing them up. not the safest for someone who's about to run down the stairs, but he just needs to get out the room before he has a panic attack in front of hotch.  
  
thankfully they're only on the second floor, so it doesn't take long for him to reach the coffee machine in the hotel lobby. the entire way down his brain is screaming _i'm going to lose my job everyone is going to hate me they're all going to abandon me they're going to lock me away in rehab and all i want is another fix._ by time he grabs the handle of the machine, his hands are shaking.  
  
"hey, pretty boy! missed you at the takedown last night. get much sleep?"  
  
his head turns to the voice, finding morgan and rossi walking over to him from the elevator. he forces his voice to be steady, looking at the coffee machine to avoid eye contact. "actually yes, i did. no pacing or reciting russian books at three in the morning at least."  
  
"lucky hotch," morgan laughs, "you didn't give him a heart attack."  
  
rossi looks around the lobby. "speaking of, where is hotch?"  
  
after grabbing the two cups of hot drink, he finally faced them. "he had to finish some paperwork, he sent me down for coffee."  
  
an unreadable look passes through morgan's eyes before he smirks. "i don't think i've seen that shirt before. looks a little big on you."  
  
that throws him off for a second and he looks down. "uh," he didn't remember until now that he was still wearing hotch's shirt. "yeah. it is a little big. now, if you'll excuse me, i have coffee to deliver." he knows it makes him look even more suspicious but the lack of caffeine means his brain isn't fully working yet, so he rushes past them and back up the stairs, hearing them laugh at his retreating figure. the shout of "use protection, pretty boy" didn't do anything to help the redness currently taking over his face.   
  
the colour stays as he opens the door, finding hotch sat on the edge of the bed, crisp suit on and phone in hand.  
  
"morgan thinks we're sleeping together and it's your fault. take your coffee."  
  
hotch stands and grabs his coffee, putting his phone in his pocket. "care to explain why morgan thinks we're sleeping together?"  
  
he purses his lips and looks at the floor before quietly answering, "you didn't tell me i was still wearing your shirt." hotch just laughs at him, making his head snap up and a small smile show on his still red face. "oh shut up, rossi was there too so i won't be the only one that gets interrogated."   
  
"i can talk to rossi later. right now, i need to talk with you."  
  
he pales at that but hey, at least he's not red anymore. he swallows hard and nods. "uh, yeah, okay. where, um, where do you want to talk?"  
  
his boss looks over at the far side of the room, towards two doors side by side that he hadn't noticed before. "the balcony should be good. it's a bit windy out but it's not too cold yet."  
  
"...i didn't even realise there _was_ a balcony over there." _probably because i was high majority of the time i've been here_ , he thinks. and oh, didn't that just bring the cravings on stronger? almost subconsciously, his eyes drift over to his bag, the last known place of his unhealthy solace. he doesn't remember ever putting his stuff back in there. he knows he definitely has his used needles in a small bag in there at least (he can see the tip of the plastic sticking out from when he was rushing to grab his stuff the night before), but what about the vials?

hotch's voice breaks him out of his questions. "i went through your bag. they're not in there. the used needles are because i can't throw them into any old bin, but the vials and unused needles are with me. do you want to get changed before we go sit down?"  
  
a small shake of the head is all the answer he can give before following hotch outside. the balcony is small, just a table and a chair on either side. not a word passes between them as they sit down, coffees in hand.  
  
they sit together, looking out at the not-very-idealic view of the parking lot. he can feel the nervous energy thrumming through his veins in place of what he wishes was there as he attempts to muster up the courage to talk.  
  
"hotch, i-i'm sorry for uh, for last night. for everything, you know? not just for you having to find me like that but um, for how i acted. i didn't mean to make you feel un-uncomfortable or anything."  
  
hotch takes a drink from his cup before placing it on the table. "right now, i'm not your boss. i'm just aaron and you're just spencer. when this conversation is done, i go back to being hotch. but right now, i'm aaron. and you don't have to apologise. honestly, it was quite amusing, ignoring the circumstances."  
  
the redness in his face comes back as he let's out a quiet laugh, relaxing now that he knows hotch isn't angry at him.  
  
"i've learnt that i have absolutely no filter when i'm- when i'm high. i just say whatever comes to mind."  
  
hotch's smile slowly drops off his face, but he doesn't look angry. he looks sad, a strange difference to the man who usually never lets emotions show so openly. "yes. you said a few things last night. you told me you started using again about a month ago."  
  
he nods.  
  
"can i ask what set it off? as far as i know, you were clean for several years before this."  
  
he clears his throat and drinks more of his coffee before answering, "yeah, the last time i used was um, when gideon left, so it's been a while." the look hotch gives him shows that he's waiting for him to answer the actual question and a deep sigh makes it's way out of his mouth. "you know how i got shot in the leg a while back?" he waits to receive unnecessary confirmation in an effort to stall. "well i guess the doctor didn't actually look through my chart and he-" he swallows hard, "he prescribed dilaudid. i didn't take it at first. didn't throw it away either, even though i knew i should. should've at least told someone about it. but i didn't. i put it in my bedside drawer and left it there. i thought that maybe i could, i don't know, resist it? but then one day, i tripped on the stairs. i had my cane at this point and i know i was meant to be taking the elevator but you know how claustrophobic i can be. it was on the way up to my apartment and i tripped and hit my knee and it hurt so bad. i had to crawl the last few steps. when i eventually got inside, all i could think about was that i was in pain and there was something in my bedroom that i was literally told by a professional to use. i must've sat there for at least forty minutes trying to distract myself. it's worked before, y'know? distracting myself. even called garcia one time and told her to rant to me about whatever show she was watching. it didn't work this time."

it's been a long time since he's been this open around someone; a long time since he's been so... himself. it feels weird being honest, but it's nice. it's terrifying and it's freeing all at once.  
  
he waits for hotch's answer, knowing he just dropped a bombshell on him and it might take a minute or two to figure out how to reply. when hotch does reply, it's in that quiet voice that spencer is starting to get used to.  
  
"why didn't you tell anyone?"  
  
neither of them are looking at the other, instead looking into their empty cups of long-gone coffee. he isn't sure how to answer that but when he blurts out his questions, he's not really surprised by himself.  
  
"are we friends? you and i? the team too?"

even though spencer isn't surprised, hotch sure seems to be, his eyebrows quickly raising before furrowing. "of course we are. we're a family."  
  
"i'm not sure i believe that."  
  
"why don't you?" hotch questions, curiosity and sadness being the only emotions behind his words.  
  
"does family mean leaving the youngest to fend off a drug addiction all alone?" whether this was the result of genuine anger, the cravings he was currently fighting, or the withdrawal symptoms he was steadily ignoring, spencer doesn't know. the silence that's left when hotch doesn't reply only makes things worse. "i tried crying out for help. i made it so blatantly obvious, hoping someone would confront me. but nobody did. man, i didn't wanna get addicted. i didn't choose this. yeah, i took it on my own free will, i admit that. i made a bad choice and i know i can't blame anybody but myself for that. but the first few times? the first few times i was tied to a chair in a shed and i had no say in it. before that night, i'd never even touched a drug in my life. but i go to do my job- i go to _help someone_ and i get a fucking drug addiction forced onto me! and not once did anybody step in to make me stop. you all left me thinking that nobody cared about me! you left me thinking that as long as i could still solve cases, it didn't matter that i was poisoning myself! i was left to fucking rot! and in the end, i had to be the one to put an end to it. i sat there throwing up and crying and shaking and fighting the _worst_ cravings i've ever had, all alone. not one fucking person was there with me! and i get back and you all smile at me and say that you're all glad i'm feeling better as if i just had a nasty case of the flu and i can't even talk to any of you about it! i still have to deal with it all alone. i get that you didn't want me to lose my job but holy shit, i almost died! i wanted to die - i still sometimes want to! and none of you even know because i can't fucking talk to you about it. and you have the nerve to tell me that we're a family? i've never had much experience with family but i'm pretty damn sure this isn't what it's meant to feel like."

he doesn't even realise he's having a panic attack until hotch's hand is rubbing his back and he can hear the words "just breathe for me, slowly, in and out, come on, deep breaths" being slowly said into his ear. it takes a few minutes but eventually his breathing evens out and hotch goes to fetch him some water. spencer slumps back in his chair and just focuses on breathing. he doesn't feel proud of finally getting it all out. he's not embarrassed. he doesn't really feel much of anything.  
  
he sips his water when hotch gets back, waiting for him to reply, which is once again in that quiet voice.  
  
"you're right. we have no right to claim you as family when we treated you and sometimes continue to treat you so poorly. it's no excuse but i don't think any of us really knew how to go about it and assumed gideon would have handled it. we should have known better than that though. we all knew what was going on and we did nothing about it and that was wrong of us. but i have to ask - do you really want to die?"  
  
he contemplates his answer before replying, "not really. i used to be suicidal, even tried once. now i just wish i never existed in the first place, but i can't really stop existing without dying."  
  
"why do you want to stop existing?"  
  
spencer thinks. does he want to be honest? it's not as if he can go back now - he's already confessed so much. but does he consider the man in front of him his friend enough to tell him the whole truth? he's shown his anger, but what about everything else?  
  
his voice is barely more than a whisper. "everything takes so much effort, and i don't have the energy anymore," he finally makes eye contact for the first time since the conversation started. "i'm _tired._ "  
  
it takes ~~his boss~~ his friend a few seconds to answer before he finally admits, "i know. i see it when you smile. it doesn't quite reach your eyes."  
  
they stare at each other, the only sound between them being the soft wind blowing around them as if protecting them from the outside world. in this moment, it's just the two of them. neither wants to break the silence, but they know they have to get out of the cold at some point.  
  
spencer breaks eye contact to stare at the floor beneath him, hoping for it to open up and let him fall through. "i think i need help."  
  
"we'll do everything we can. it won't be like last time. you're not alone and i'm sorry that you were before."  
  
the next few seconds follow in another silence. "thank you," he whispers, "and thank you for apologising."  
  
aaron's eyes soften with guilt and sadness. "you don't need to thank me for apologising. we should've done more, i know that now and i knew that then. i can only thank you for still trusting me."  
  
their eyes meet again as spencer lifts his head, finding aaron already looking at him. "i'll always trust you."

**Author's Note:**

> this was my first fic so i hope you enjoyed:) feedback is always welcomed! please let me know of any mistakes you see, i'm not used to using this site
> 
> i have a [tumblr](http://sadspencer.tumblr.com) too with the same username as here:)


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